


Like Warriors

by icedchai



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Screwing Your Nemesis, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedchai/pseuds/icedchai
Summary: This had been going on the past several months. Ever since Hot Rod caught Deadlock off-guard with a surprise king hit on Vermidor, the Decepticon had been chasing him from planet to planet with single-minded obsession. At first Hot Rod thought Deadlock just wanted to kill him for suckerpunching him in front of hundreds of Autobots and Decepticons. He quickly learned that wasn’t all Deadlock wanted when the freak cornered him on Novalis andkissedhim.





	Like Warriors

**Author's Note:**

> Pure contextless crack. Please enjoy!

Hot Rod grit his teeth, tasting dirt. His audial receptors were ringing, his back stung painfully, and he couldn’t tell up from down. There had been an explosion, and he had gotten caught in the impact.

He made an effort to move and cried out in pain. Something was lodged deep in his trapezial plating. Hot Rod swallowed, braced himself, and tried to reach behind his back to dig out whatever it was that had pierced him just beneath his spoiler. Pain bloomed from the wound and spread throughout his entire body, making him scream and go rigid.

It took two attempts to reset his visual feed before he could see anything that wasn’t static. He panted hard, trying to clear his mind, to focus on anything other than the throbbing in his back.

Any moment of clarity was short-lived as a heavy boot settled on the object in his back and, with a mocking gentleness, pressed. Hot Rod shouted, and then clamped his teeth shut in a menacing growl to trap it, even as the pain made his eyes shine so bright and hot that they shed light filaments. He wouldn’t give this Decepticon scum the satisfaction of hearing him wail like a sparkling.

As if reading his mind, the boot lifted from his back. He heard the Decepticon above him click his tongue and sigh, “No. That’s not how I want to do this.”

Hot Rod lie still on his stomach, seething, until a hand grabbed him by the spoiler and hauled him to his feet. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, that same hand dropped and took hold of the thing in his back and _pulled._

Hot Rod howled, and the world tilted. His body became a palsy of agony. He fell forward, and his enemy caught him. “There, there. I’ve got you. Ha ha, wow, you’re trembling.”

“Cog-sucking… Bastard,” Hot Rod choked out when he could breathe again.

Another laugh, light as a wind chime. Hot Rod grunted as he was roughly turned about-face.

Deadlock looked down at him, smug, Decepticon-red eyes bright with amusement. “That’s no way to thank someone who just removed an _impressively_ large shard of shrapnel from your back. I don’t do that for everyone, you know.”

His expression gave way to something more thoughtful, “I don’t do that for anyone, actually.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky,” Hot Rod surged forward, smashing his head into Deadlock’s.

The Decepticon yowled, dropping him. Hot Rod dove to the side, half-transforming to tuck and roll to put a greater distance between himself and Deadlock. He landed on his feet several yards away.

“C’mon, Hot Rod! Roddy! Rodders,” Deadlock growled and rubbed at his crest in agitation, “There’s only so long you can prolong the inevitable.”

“Yeah, well, if you wanted to _fuck_ me so badly, you just missed your chance,” Hot Rod spat.

Deadlock lay a hand on his gun holster, taking a few steps forward. Hot Rod mirrored his movement, and for a moment the two circled each other.

“I thought about it, I really did,” Deadlock stopped, and so did Hot Rod. “I could have just taken you on your stomach with a piece of ship sticking out of your back. But where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t want to take you like a prisoner,” he continued, “I want to take you on your back, like a warrior.”

This had been going on the past several months. Ever since Hot Rod caught Deadlock off-guard with a surprise king hit on Vermidor, the Decepticon had been chasing him from planet to planet with single-minded obsession. At first Hot Rod thought Deadlock just wanted to kill him for suckerpunching him in front of hundreds of Autobots and Decepticons. He quickly learned that wasn’t all Deadlock wanted when the freak cornered him on Novalis and _kissed him._

Hot Rod had to confess, there was a certain rush to having your own nemesis. Everybody had one these days. Everybody that was worth a damn, anyway. He wondered if this is how Optimus felt when he squared off with Megatron.

He shivered with excitement at the thought. Deadlock, ever perceptive, noticed and grinned. “See, I know you want it too. You can’t deny it forever.”

“What? Ew, no!” Hot Rod called out as Deadlock started circling him again. Hot Rod responded in kind, lifting his chin nobly. “I mean— Does your perversion know no bounds, Decepticon? I’d never corrupt myself or betray my ideals by fraternizing with a depraved individual such as yourself.”

Deadlock stopped and looked at Hot Rod as if he had grown a second head.

Hot Rod hesitated. “What?”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“What? Like what?”

“Like… you’re Optimus Prime or something.”

“F… Frag you! I am not!”

Deadlock laughed again. There were a lot of creepy things about Deadlock, but Hot Rod would readily declare his laugh was the creepiest. It was so soft and breathy, a complete contrast to how Deadlock otherwise carried himself. Normally, Hot Rod would be unsettled by it. Right now, though, it just pissed him off.

He took a couple steps forward, fists clenched and raised. “Laugh all you want, ‘con, I’m ending this farce _tonight._ ”

Deadlock’s eyes brightened considerably and he eagerly stalked forward, body languid, which only pissed off Hot Rod _more_. As soon as Deadlock was within a foot of him, Hot Rod threw a cross punch, sending the ‘con staggering. Pride swelled within him.

Deadlock clutched his chin, his expression turned animalistic. Lunge, retreat. Another punch thrown. Too wide. A feint from Deadlock, followed by a fist connecting hard with Hot Rod’s side. A right hook, batted away like nothing. Deadlock’s knee in Hot Rod’s abdominal plating.

Hot Rod stumbled back, and Deadlock chased. He was quick to realize how outmatched he was against Deadlock. Every punch he threw only grazed its mark, every move he made, Deadlock was two steps ahead of him. A jab to his chest. A blow to his head. Deadlock was too fast.

If this kept up, Deadlock was going to brutalize him. Hot Rod’s right optic flickered; his visual feed was damaged, warping his depth perception. He lurched forward, catching Deadlock in a grapple. Deadlock was too eager to seize him and press his body close.

“Come on, Autobot, show me what they teach in the academy,” Deadlock growled, face uncomfortably close to Hot Rod’s own.

Hot Rod ignored the taunt and ignored the heat radiating off of Deadlock’s body. As long as they were clinched like this, Deadlock couldn’t get any more devastating punches in, and Hot Rod could think of a way to take him down.

Deadlock wasn’t opposed to the struggle, his mouth hovering next to Hot Rod’s audial. “I can’t wait to be inside of you.”

Hot Rod shuddered, ignoring the weird heat pooling in his stomach, and jerked his head away. Deadlock took the drop in Hot Rod’s guard to kick his feet out from under him.

Hot Rod hit the ground, pain shooting up his back. Deadlock descended upon him like a hungry turbofox. They struggled in the dirt there, Hot Rod trying to buck Deadlock off and Deadlock forcing his way between Hot Rod’s legs, pinning one of his arms above his head.

“Get the hell off me!” Hot Rod snarled and thrashed, his body crashing uselessly into Deadlock’s.

Deadlock slotted his body against Hot Rod’s, hips tucked under hips, panel pressed against panel. The contact was so jarring that Hot Rod involuntarily jerked up. More laughter bubbled out of Deadlock, and Hot Rod felt his face heat up in anger and humiliation. “I said get—”

Deadlock shut him up with a kiss. It was hard and rough, like the first time Deadlock had kissed him. Hot Rod fought him with his teeth, but it only served to bolster Deadlock, who bit back until Hot Rod’s lips were sore and swollen.

Deadlock spent a long while just kissing Hot Rod until he was breathless. The kiss turned slow, as if Deadlock were no longer devouring him but savoring him. His tongue was slick and hot in Hot Rod’s mouth. The friction between their bodies and Deadlock’s lips on his own heated Hot Rod up cruelly, leaving him trembling with built-up charge.

His interfacing equipment sprung to life, spike aching to be free and valve aching to be filled. Deadlock broke their kiss and Hot Rod groaned at the loss. “Y-you can’t be serious about this.”

“I’m very serious about this. You know I am.” Deadlock lay his hand on Hot Rod’s throat, making his spark surge in brief panic, and caressed down his chest and abdominal plating. “You staked a claim on me in front of all of those people, remember? And now I’m staking one on you.”

“What?” Hot Rod bit his lip, optics darting between Deadlock’s face and the hand so close to his panel. His stomach was doing flips and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was excited or horrified or both. “Are you nuts?”

“No.” Deadlock shot him an unimpressed glance before returning his attention to Hot Rod’s body. He found the buckled plating where he had punched Hot Rod earlier, and gave it an appreciative press. Hot Rod hissed and Deadlock’s optics lit up at the sound.

“You sure?” Hot Rod gritted, “Because I’m pretty sure only people who are nuts talk about ‘claiming’ other people.”

“If you didn’t want to be mine, then you shouldn’t have made me yours,” Deadlock said.

It was fucking stupid, but Hot Rod’s spike throbbed hard behind its panel at that. Why was that so _hot?_

“You’re mine?” Hot Rod tested the words in his mouth, glaring at Deadlock’s hand on his belly and wondering why he wasn’t _doing anything._ He glanced up to see Deadlock staring at him with an intense expression. “ _What?_ ”

“Say that again,” Deadlock was breathless and his face a little flushed. He looked… pretty. Hot Rod squirmed.

“Say it,” he commanded again.

“You’re… You’re mine,” Hot Rod repeated, making his voice low and firm.

Deadlock bucked against Hot Rod. The contact caused residual energy to spark between them, making both of them jolt and groan in unison. Hot Rod wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his panels shut.

“That’s right. I’m yours, Hot Rod. And you’re mine,” Deadlock rasped, draping himself over Hot Rod and kissing him needily.

Hot Rod had to admit that the effect he had on Deadlock was a little intoxicating. Like, who else could say they’ve had one of the most deadly Decepticons in the universe quivering against them, their name on their lips? Deadlock was a fucking freak for sure, but Hot Rod could forget anything if his ego was stroked just so. 

Hot Rod turned on that charm he had become infamous for at the academy. “I guess I like the sound of that after all.”

Truthfully, he’d never “belong” to anyone. No one owned Hot Rod. He was wild and free, and nothing or nobody could contain him. Deadlock didn’t need to know that, though, not when he had become so pliant with Hot Rod’s tongue in his mouth. Deadlock kissed like something feral, desperate and starved. He’d consume Hot Rod if he let him.

“Hey, are we gonna move this along?” Hot Rod stuck his fingers in Deadlock’s grille and stroked. Deadlock groaned, and Hot Rod tried not to look as smug as he felt. “Kissing’s nice, but I think my spike is going to literally explode if we don’t frag in the next thirty seconds.”

“What happened to not corrupting yourself or your ideals?” Deadlock gave him a dry look, batting Hot Rod’s hand away from him and sitting upright.

Hot Rod shifted uncomfortably, trying to affect an air of coolness, “Yeah, that was before you decided we’re soulmates.” He yelped as Deadlock suddenly jerked his hips up further into his lap. “Hey!”

He was bent in an awkward position, aft up and legs unceremoniously spread. The new arrangement put an irritating pressure on the wound in his back and Hot Rod seethed. Deadlock didn’t give him time to complain, pinning him down with a hand on his throat. “Open your panels.”

Hot Rod’s spark spun in his chest at the command and the heavy weight on his neck. It was unsettling how fast Deadlock switched between gentle and aggressive. It looked like Hot Rod was getting aggressive-Deadlock now. He swallowed and relayed the code to free his spike and valve.

Pressurizing his spike came as an immense relief to his systems. It sprung out of its housing, bobbing in the air, while his valve shone wet with lubricant. The air was cool against his exposed equipment, and Hot Rod stifled a whimper. He watched Deadlock, who seemed to be admiring Hot Rod’s junk. Which, he better.

“Well don’t just _stare_ at it,” Hot Rod wiggled his hips enticingly, “...Unless you’ve never done this before?”

Deadlock barked a laugh at that, and squeezed Hot Rod’s throat. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him nervous. His other hand passed Hot Rod’s spike entirely in favor of his valve. Hot Rod whined; his dick _really_ needed attention. Deadlock smirked, and slipped a thumb between the folds of Hot Rod’s valvae, teasing him. Oh, so it was gonna be like _that._

Deadlock took his time exploring Hot Rod’s valve, spreading the lips with his fingers, getting him slick with his own lubricant. His thumb would graze over his external node, making Hot Rod keen and lift his hips in a demand for more, and then leave him wanting. His fingers would prod at the entrance of his valve, but never quite slip inside, calipers grasping at nothing.

Hot Rod banged his head back against the ground, crying out in frustration. His spike throbbed painfully, leaking onto his stomach. “Just put it in, you utter bastard!”

Deadlock smiled. “What’s the rush?”

“Are you kidding? Command’s going to want to know where I am eventually, and also if you don’t fuck my brains out literally this second I’m going to _go insane,_ ” Hot Rod snapped. 

Deadlock’s panel opened with a sharp _click_ and Hot Rod instantly lifted his head to get a look at his spike as it pressurized. It was… completely normal. Which wasn’t a disappointment by any measure, but the other Autobots would always gossip about Decepticons getting weird spike modifications like barbs and other such slag. Which, what did Hot Rod know? Decepticons were weirdos and he’d never seen Decepticon dick. Until now, that was.

Hot Rod lifted his gaze to see Deadlock looking back at him. Probably trying to gauge Hot Rod’s reaction. Hot Rod wordlessly canted his hips up and whined, a little too performatively, but Deadlock just snorted and took the hint. He took his spike into his fist and lazily pumped it a couple times, lining it up with Hot Rod’s valve, which was dripping at this point.

And then in one smooth thrust, Deadlock was _in._ Hot Rod’s head fell back once more, optics sparking light, and a long, low moan trailed out of him. Deadlock’s spike filled him perfectly, stretched his calipers pleasantly. And Hot Rod wasn’t the only one enjoying himself; Deadlock’s own optics where flashing with emotion as he buried himself deep, hips jerking every time Hot Rod’s valve so much as rippled over his spike.

“Frag, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Hot Rod gasped as Deadlock started to move, dragging his spike out painfully slow only to shove it back in with a force great enough to make Hot Rod yelp. He did this a few times, grunting with the effort and gazing intensely at Hot Rod’s face all the while. “Oh, God. _Primus._ ”

Deadlock tilted Hot Rod more, getting a firm grip on his aft with one hand and steadying himself with the other by Hot Rod’s head. He was nearly bent in half. Hot Rod grunted at the position, but he knew where this was going— he locked his legs around Deadlock’s waist and bit his lip in anticipation of what came next.

Deadlock began to pound Hot Rod’s valve forcefully. Hot Rod threw his head back and _sobbed_ as he was penetrated deep, over and over, Deadlock’s spike crashing against his anterior node in quick succession. One hand reached up to clutch at the back of Deadlock’s neck, the other clawing desperately at the soil beneath them. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck—”

Charge coursed through the two of them and jumped between them, building fast. Deadlock panted with exertion, slamming his hips into Hot Rod’s aft, driving him into the dirt, sending little shocks of pain up his back where his wound still bled. The sensation only added to Hot Rod’s rapidly climbing climax. He cried and babbled and begged, pleading nonsense like “Yeah, yeah, harder, yeah, fuckin’ destroy me, oh God, yes, oh fuck, I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Deadlock’s rhythm fell apart and he was gasping too now, fisting his hand in the dirt, clutching Hot Rod tight enough to crush plating. Bodies clashing together, energy crackling between them, rising, rising—

Hot Rod’s mouth fell open in a silent cry. He saw stars. He _felt_ light. Inside of him. Blossoming. Heating him up from the inside, starting in his belly and exploding out of his chest.

It wasn’t every day that an orgasm felt like a religious experience.

When he came back to his senses, Deadlock was still hovering over him, optics wide and white-hot as he gulped down air. He disengaged and tucked himself away, sitting back on his haunches to get a good look at Hot Rod’s still-exposed valve and the transfluid seeping out of him. Hot Rod rolled his optics, even if he felt a lazy thrill at Deadlock’s appreciative, hungry stare.

He shut his panels to grab his attention, and Deadlock’s gaze snapped up. Hot Rod grinned, arms folded behind his head. “Not bad, ‘con. Haven’t had a frag like that since before the war.”

Deadlock squinted at him, but then smirked and crawled over him to kiss him. Hot Rod was eager to shove his tongue in Deadlock’s mouth, but quickly broke apart. “Uh, neither of our superiors need to know about this.”

“You could always come with me. The Decepticons would appreciate you, Hot Rod. I know Megatron would especially,” Deadlock said, hand creeping up Hot Rod’s plating.

“Um,” Hot Rod sat up, pushing Deadlock off of him, “I don’t think so.”

Hot Rod glanced down at himself and grimaced at his own transfluid staining his stomach. He grabbed fistfulls of dirt to wipe himself down with. “Look, this was fun, but I’m going to have Command breathing down my neck any minute now.”

Deadlock clearly didn’t appreciate being brushed aside like worthless slag. Out of the corner of his optic Hot Rod saw his plating flare threateningly and his face contort into something hateful. Before Hot Rod ended up with his head disconnected from the rest of his body, he turned and pressed a swift kiss to Deadlock’s mouth.

It had the desired effect. Deadlock instantly mellowed and Hot Rod leaned back, smiling his most charming smile. “Let’s do this again soon.”

Deadlock was staring at him, completely bewildered, and that was Hot Rod’s cue to get up and go before he realized he was being played. He staggered back a little and put enough distance between Deadlock and himself to transform, speeding off and leaving Deadlock sitting in the dust, clueless as to what had just happened.


End file.
